


schedule

by swyllh (heygorgeous)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, M/M, Someone save this boi, Time Travel, also who matches guitar picks with guitars, basically joshua is bad at faces, doctor joshua!!, jeonghan is tangled in joshua's timeline, non chronology in a chronological order, time travelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 02:30:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13331607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heygorgeous/pseuds/swyllh
Summary: the memory ends there, abrupt but not unreasonably. joshua learns to forget the encounter altogether, learns to file it under a childhood dream or nightmare.in those things, you never quite remember how they start or how they end. only a lingering sense of something lost, not quite captured or understood. a premonition; a promise.





	schedule

 

_california_ ,  _usa - 2002:_ joshua is seven, his tiny, crooked feet set free against coarse granite. he runs a jagged path down the road along his cul-de-sac, imagines he’s blazing a hot ashy trail beneath his feet, scrambling-

-chasing after the sky-blue light and smear of white, undiluted clouds, learning to read the varying tones of rooftops and brick walls-

-mapping the neighbourhood in his pride, flirting with restraint and his parents’ caution. 

(the words don’t stick - he’s young, and growing and being.) 

* * *

 

when he makes the turn around his street corner - it’s the end of his map, of the safe zone, because there’s a red stop sign sweltering under the summer sun, casting doubtful shadows on his toes.

will he turn? is it the  _right_ day to continue? 

the road continues to steam and toil under his considering gaze. it’s a warm day, and now that he’s stopped to deliberate, the granite are slowly turning into hot coals under his squirming soles. 

maybe, maybe, maybe - joshua tries to weigh the excitement of defying his parents’ orders against the sulky fear of staying in line.

as the road before him blurs into a nondescript pattern of concrete and bricks and oil-sheened cars, there’s suddenly another addition. a man, shrunk down by the distance, lands on his feet. he’s carrying something in his hands. it looks blue. maybe. 

he looks confused, almost wounded by the way he’s hunching. but perhaps the exchange of light and shade is warping the sight. 

joshua’s sure he’s never seen the man before - especially not one in a suit like he’s going to a wedding, or a funeral. the warning bells should start to sound, but this only livens the area to joshua; it must be  _his_ neighbourhood, too. 

the fear of an unknown, uncharted territory shrinks down with the arrival of this stranger, whose strangeness cancels out the strangeness of the extended road itself. 

the memory ends there, abrupt but not unreasonably. joshua learns to forget the encounter altogether, learns to file it under a childhood dream or nightmare.   
in those things, you never quite remember how they start or how they end. only a lingering sense of something lost, not quite captured or understood. a premonition; a  _promise_.

* * *

 

_california, usa - 2007:_ twelve year old joshua goes to church more frequently. he’s saving up for a new guitar, but mostly because the girl down the street got him a navy guitar pick for secret santa.

he’s considering between a navy secondhand guitar (because it would match) and a brand new brown one, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other, hyperaware of his aching neck. 

in the end, he leaves the shop, too embarrassed to ask for assistance. half-ashamed, half-relieved, he tugs on his wilting polyester collar and delves into the silencing crowd.

the mall blurs into a nondescript makeshift kaleidoscope of neon and inconsideration; people are bumping into each other, overturning innocent hangers and yelling into phones.

the guitar pick, lying in his pocket, suddenly feels criminal. 

as he weighs the literal weight of the pick in his clammy fingers against the thought of returning to the shop, he spots a black parka next to the coffee shop.   
the black parka has no distinct features, gives away nothing as he paces over to the next store, but a nagging feeling of deja vu snips at the back of joshua’s neck - 

and then the black parka raises his hand, and  _vanishes_. 

it must be a mistake, it must be - the crowd convenes over where black parka once was, and carefully erases any doubt that there was ever a hooded figure in the midst of their colourful khakis and tank tops.

joshua runs out of the mall, feeling even more like an accomplice to a crime. his glasses fog up immediately, tensing up at the mere heat of summer.

* * *

 

_athens, greece - 2009:_   the call strains, tugs ruthlessly against the chill of his ungloved hands, stutters its way past the conversion of telephone lines or satellite spies, past currencies and timezones.

someone laughs, sputters drunkenly in the customary comforts of a hotel lobby, and joshua tightens his grip on the phone. 

the connection trips, dragging on wearily as though it’s making a fifteen hour route past changing skies and airport bureaucracies. somewhere in between the fourth ring and the sixth, he thinks he catches the coattails of fireworks - a muted drum struck once.

the phone gives up, breaking into unapologetic beeps.

the drunk man in the lobby behind him stirs, stops cracking peanuts with his blackened thumb. the sudden respite of peace tastes sour. 

and then the drunk man is hollering, half-choked on his fifth beer, or undiscriminated peanut shells. joshua glances up, startled, and sees

black parka.

black parka is not in a black parka now. he’s in a black suit, hunched and sweating uncomfortably despite the efficient breeze outside. when black parka looks up and moves closer, joshua notices that he’s bleeding in the stomach. heavily. 

there’s - there’s got to be a standard operating procedure for this, joshua thinks numbly, mind gasping out the numbers for the police from his school’s travel booklet. 

“are you alright,” joshua asks, “you’re bleeding.”

the man looks right past him. “where are you from?”

“what?”

“can’t stay here,” the man mumbles, though it’s more to himself. with an effort, he smiles, but it comes off as pale, oily and unfortunate. “where are you from?”

“you’re bleeding,” joshua repeats. 

“america, huh,” the man says, and joshua clamps a hand over his mouth. 

“california,” joshua says. “but you need to go to a hospital-”

“california - ah! mister doctor,” the man grins, reaches out an unbloodied hand, and ruffles joshua’s hair. 

the drunk man in the lobby is still hollering, albeit slurring his words a little more now, letting the last bits of alcoholic fervour wind him into a peaceful sleep. 

black parka raises his hand, offers joshua a kind, apologetic smile, and snaps.   
joshua forgets to call home that night. 

* * *

 

_passing over the bering seas - 2013:_  cutting through air above air, above air. imagining the sky not as a crayola constant, but a space delivered from scientific states (solid, liquid,  _gas_ ) is unnatural. 

his seat feels like a dentist’s chair, far too unpredictable and vulnerable. but there are no drills here, no threats of necessary extractions or even a cavity throbbing in his jaw. only the sickened daze of having his ears blocked - his voice sounds too muffled even to himself, even as he feels it through the hum of his throat. 

joshua gets up, paces to the end of the aisle, and stretches. 

he peeks out one of the windows, and sees the sea. or at least, he doesn’t - not at first. it’s only when the plane steers leftward that the gradient of blue is thwarted by a mechanical white wing.

“hey,” someone whispers. 

joshua jumps, and turns to see a boy much younger than him. “oh, hello.”  
the boy grins, eyes twinkling with mischief. “have i seen you before? you look familiar.” 

(joshua’s heart stops. is this flirting? but the boy looks  _twelve_. he’s heard this line countless times on sitcoms, but the setting is usually overtly heterosexual, caucasian, and  _adult_.)

“um,” joshua tries to think, but nothing comes to mind. “i don’t think so, sorry.” 

the boy frowns. “that’s too bad. what’s your name?”

“joshua.”

“i’m jeonghan, nice to meet you,” jeonghan says smoothly, offering a hand.

the roles seem reversed here, but joshua takes his hand.

“you’ve got big hands!” jeonghan exclaims.

(joshua wonders if maybe, for once,  _he’s_  being the corruptible one.)

“yeah, i like playing the guitar, but-” joshua stops himself. 

jeonghan peers up at him curiously. “but?”

“um,” joshua falters, but jeonghan has a...  _thing_  about him that makes joshua continue, “i’ve left it behind in la.”

“oh,” jeonghan says, eyebrows furrowing. “well, i’m sure you’re an amazing player.”

joshua flushes; the compliment is so earnest. “yeah, well, i don’t think i’ll have time for that any time soon.”

“why not?”

“i’m going to be a doctor.”

jeonghan’s eyes widen dangerously. “a doctor! that’s so cool, mister doctor!” 

joshua shakes his head and places his hands up. “no, i’m just studying to be one -”

“you’ll be a good doctor!” jeonghan chirps anyway. “or a guitar player!”

joshua laughs, and changes the topic. “are you here alone? where are your parents?”

jeonghan pauses for a moment, thinking hard. and then, glancing around, he flinches. he squints at a passenger’s screen, and joshua follows his gaze to see the flight route enlarged. 

jeonghan squirms uneasily. “yeah, i gotta get back. see ya!”

he flees down the aisle, dodging a flight attendant, and vanishing from sight.   
joshua searches for the young teen at the airport, but shrugs it off.

* * *

 

_seoul, south korea - 2015_ : another day of this, and he’ll  _die_. joshua’s crumpled on a park bench, and the only source of light in his life right now is the blinking vending machine next to him.

but even then, the last can of espresso’s all gone. 

there’s a heavy stack of notes on cardiovascular atrophy or something on his desk, waiting patiently for his return. but he can’t bring himself to do so - not when the winding twilight shines forgivingly on his numb, puffy face. 

the park is mostly deserted, save for some dude in a black parka loitering around like a mugger or some serial murderer. 

(at this point, joshua’s kind of glad he at least signed the form consenting to the donation of his organs to science.)

but after five minutes of joshua’s pathetic fumble with the vending machine, even the shifty looking dude leaves. wow, he’s hit a new low.

joshua slumps on the park bench again, sighing out aloud and pressing his hands against his exhausted eyes. 

“you look like you need a drink,” someone says, offering him a can of espresso. 

joshua doesn’t even hesitate to take it. it’s only when he needs to use some of his cognitive abilities to assess the can (and open it) that he realises it’s the dude from earlier, in the black parka. 

this black parka plops down next to joshua, pulling down his hood and pulling out another drink from his pocket. 

“thanks,” joshua mumbles. “oh - i didn’t know they had  _equator’s_ here in seoul.”

black parka stiffens up next to him. “yeah, globalisation and all that.”

joshua smiles at black parka. and then something makes him pause. black parka looks remarkably... familiar. but then again, joshua’s been deprived of two days’ sleep, and he’s never been good with faces. 

black parka glances back at him, and lets his gaze linger a little longer. “so... wild guess here... you’re studying medicine?”

“yeah,” joshua says. “you?”

black parka shrugs, tossing his glorious (oh wow, joshua) hair behind his shoulder. “nah, i’m more prone to getting injured. but hey, you don’t sound like you’re from here.”

joshua nods, taking careful sips from his can. (what can he say, coffee’s a precious commodity.) “i’m from california, la.”

black parka perks up. “ooh, america. i’d like to go there some time.”

there’s a bit of a pause, and joshua thinks he can hear the cogs turning in black parka’s head, as though he’s deliberating on something. his gaze trails down from joshua’s lips (or nose, joshua thinks) to his hands.

finally, black parka says, “you don’t happen to play the guitar, do you?”

joshua glances down at his hands. “i used to.”

black parka’s look is undecipherable now. he swallows, and then takes a swig of his drink. 

“well,  _mister doctor_ ,” he says the two words in english, and joshua flushes uncomfortably. “i’m sure you’ll become a great doctor. maybe in the emergency ward.”

black parka winks, and walks away before joshua can reply.

* * *

 

_seoul, south korea - 2017:_  he’s assigned to the emergency wards. it’s probably a bureaucratic coincidence; he placed it in his first choice by accident, when he was overwhelmed with joy at finally passing his examination and leaving that damned school. 

joshua sighs fondly at the memory of lost nights, of countless highlighters and enough coffee to drown an elephant. the cycle will probably repeat itself, now that he’s just emerging as an intern/lowly assistant/unappreciated coffee buyer. 

it comes as no surprise that he’s been given the latest shifts, given his status as a young, single doctor. even the janitor shakes his head in pity at joshua’s gentle greeting, knowing that he’d be bullied into taking on more responsibilities without given due credit.

joshua doesn’t mind. not really. 

as he paces around the a&e, aware of the relative quiet and peace, he thinks of the dingy hotel in athens. it was probably the shock from seeing actual blood on a man that alerted him to a career in healing. funny how he’s trying to save a man well before his time. 

joshua continues making his rounds despite the emptiness of the room, and settles for getting a late-night drink from the vending machine. they don’t have  _equator’s_ here, of course -

“’m afraid they don’t have equator’s, mister doctor.”

it’s him. but -

“you’re bleeding,” joshua says, taking in the straggling man who’s pressing his blazer against his side. 

“took your advice and went to a hospital,” the man mutters, grinning cheekily. “when you’re done staring - think i might -”

the man collapses into joshua’s arms.  

he has no identifications. there’s only the empty case of a pistol and the suit on his back. joshua frets uneasily, stitching up his wounds and going through the standard operating procedures. without the administrative paperwork, of course.

he feels like a criminal. joshua worries his lower lip, pacing back and forth in front of the man’s bed. 

there’s no doubt it’s the man from athens, and possibly from - joshua stops himself, feeling the sharp edges of his plastic name badge. he’ll have to wake for the morphine to wear out, and for the man to wake up. 

* * *

 

the man doesn’t wake up the next morning. joshua’s volunteered to cover yet another shift in favour of harbouring a fugitive. he sighs, and buckles down for another busy day at the a&e.

doctor lee is making his rounds as usual, and he’s surprised to see joshua on guard outside of black parka’s room. “hey, josh.”

“hey seokmin,” joshua greets, stifling a yawn.

“they’re making you work the morning shift too?” seokmin exclaims, shocked. 

“yeah,” joshua nods. “but you’re not at the a&e usually.”

seokmin scratches his head. “um, well, there’s this kid, and-”

“aren’t you usually good with children?”

“yeah,” seokmin says, and then sighs heavily. “but i’m too good with them. this one - he fractured his arm but i got too carried away, and um.”

it’s not too hard for joshua to imagine seokmin, coddled by a precocious little child, playing along with their cheeky little games. so joshua sighs, and asks seokmin to lead the way.

“you’re the best!” 

joshua glances back at the closed door. “sure.”

* * *

 

the child in question is dreadfully witty and mischievous. he’s probably not older than seven, but by the way the nurses are avoiding him, joshua’s sure he’s in for a handful.

“seokminnie!” the boy calls out to seokmin, who can only grin and wave. “who’s this?”

“please call him doctor lee,” joshua says firmly. maybe it’s the lack of sleep, but joshua wants to get this over with so he can tend to his mystery man.

(it sounds so scandalous, but joshua figures he can’t keep calling him ‘black parka’.)

“i’m jeonghan!” the boy exclaims.

joshua pauses. and then, gathering himself before the boy can get the better of him, says, “i heard you fractured your arm. let’s look at it.”

the boy frowns. “what’s your name?”

“mister doctor,” joshua says irritably. 

at this, the boy laughs. “that’s a nice name, mister doctor!” 

joshua softens. “sure, now, your arm.”

the boy seems to figure out that joshua’s not as easy to bully as seokmin is. he offers his arm out gingerly, and lets joshua assess it. 

“where are your parents?” seokmin asks mildly from the side, in awe of joshua’s child-coping skills.

“ah...” jeonghan says vaguely. “they’re not here.”

“not here?” 

“yeah, i jumped-” jeonghan clams a hand over his mouth. “i mean, i’m gonna go home real soon after this!”

joshua raises an eyebrow, but says nothing that would goad him into chattering more. 

when all of it is done, jeonghan rushes out of the paediatrician department and vanishes down the hallway with his quick flailing limbs. joshua exchanges an exasperated look with seokmin, and rides the elevator down to the a&e. 

but black parka’s gone. and in his place, a can of coffee from  _equator’s_.

* * *

 

_seoul, south korea - 2018:_  a year passes swiftly, with tales of patients with more complications than a simple gunshot wound or a fractured arm. but this one never stops tossing and turning in joshua’s mind.

he knows the boy - teen - man’s name is jeonghan. he knows that jeonghan must have travelled somehow, to california or seoul or athens or over the bering seas. 

and he knows that he may never see him again.

joshua carries on with his day, carefully filing away administrative documents and looking up case files for his patients. he’s still working odd shifts due to his gentle and undenying nature, and the can of coffee remains steeped in sentimentality on his desk. 

as he shuts his laptop, there’s a sudden shriek from one of the rooms. joshua rushes in, raising a clipboard in case there’s an armed robber or serial murderer. 

jeonghan, in his bloodied suit, is holding a navy blue guitar. the patient, a mr. kim, is holding onto a pillow protectively.

“doctor hong!” mr. kim exclaims, pointing at jeonghan. “wh- he came out of  _nowhere_!”

joshua stares blankly at jeonghan. and then at the guitar.

“um,” jeonghan says eloquently. “what year is it?”

“twenty eighteen,” joshua says finally. 

mr. kim is still looking at the two with wild, panic-stricken eyes. “wh-wh- you know him? is this a prank?”

“guess i’m late,” jeonghan winces. 

joshua wants nothing more than to break out in a huge laugh - mr. kim’s still catatonic, jeonghan’s in the same bloody suit, and there’s a warm twinge in his chest that he doesn’t know how to acknowledge. so joshua walks forward, pulls jeonghan out of the room.

“sorry, mr. kim, you know how doctor xu gets.”

mr. kim waves a fist.

joshua ushers jeonghan quickly into his office, and searches for an extra shirt. “how’s the wound?”

jeonghan’s still holding onto the guitar. “still new, a little sore, but you patched me up just like it was yesterday.”

joshua laughs this time. “god - i was - wow.”

“you were?” jeonghan prompts, taking the shirt from joshua and stripping out of his own. 

joshua looks away. “i was worried.”

“yeah, well,” jeonghan buttons his shirt up, and taps joshua on the shoulder. “i’m sorry. you must have figured everything out now.”

joshua looks down at the navy blue guitar. “yeah.”

jeonghan follows his gaze. “i was... banking on what you said on the plane. that you played.”

there’s a bit of silence. jeonghan shuffles uneasily.

“well... i’m a bit rusty,” joshua preambles. “so if you’d like to hear me play, you’d have to stay for a bit.”

jeonghan beams. “if you teach me, can we make it at least two years?”

**Author's Note:**

> come scream w me on tumblr @ swyllh.tumblr.com !!!!!


End file.
